Eric Bult

The Soneteer - Poem by Eric Bult

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My sonnets are not perfect so I mustPursue with my intention to succeedIn ten long years I've dented but the crustWhereof this passion was at first decreed..From time to time it seemed I neared the target, As each line grew more gently than the last, But never was I able to forgetThat volts hiding in the overcast.This passion presses principally at weekendAs I review my efforts lately made, And find a poem that I know I should sendAway to cease its shocking masquerade.

But as I near five hundred sonnets mineI'll wait to hear the final bell for 'Time'.